


Party Game

by Zab43



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Forfeits, M/M, work party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zab43/pseuds/Zab43
Summary: One drunken night in Hell Crowley stumbles into a game he never meant to be part of.
Relationships: Crowley/Hastur (Good Omens), Crowley/Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	Party Game

Crowley was only now starting to realise how drunk he was. It was Hell's annual office party and, characteristically, there had been a large bowl of alarmingly coloured punch, free for all comers. Uncharacteristically it seemed to have been laced with large amounts of alcohol and, in fact, be quite lethal. He'd had rather a lot of it, topped up with several swigs from his own hip flask. He had only bought it to fortify himself against the usual dire frivolities, make it bearable by getting a little tipsy. Unfortunately, the unexpected strength of the punch had hit him late on and now he could hardly stand.

He scanned the room looking for a way out, or failing that a seat. He could see neither. Just as he was about to slide down the wall and sit, however ill-advisedly, on Hell's damp floor he saw a seat become free as the occupying demon ran off at speed. Not caring why the previous occupant had fled he threw himself at the seat before someone else took it. He found himself in a group of demons sat around a very holy looking crucifix.

"Ah, a new player!" Said one of the demons in a gloating tone. "Oh shit" thought Crowley, what had he got himself into. "Go on then, see how long you can keep your hand on it. Winner keeps the lot, losers get forfeits" growled a bulky demon wrapped up in a large duffel coat, as he indicated a miscellaneous pile of buttons, twists of silver foil and interesting looking shells - things that passed for currency in Hell. "Errr, I haven't got a stake, love to play otherwise y'know, just, well it wouldn't be right me coming in without a stake now would it?" Crowley stuttered desperately. "You sit, you play" growled the demon as the others bared fangs and flexed claws around him.

Crowley was starting to sweat, he couldn't do this, he always lost these games, always. He just didn't like pain, couldn't stand it. Almost like his body didn't want to get damaged or something. Shit, shit, shit. The heavily muffled demon indicated the cross, leering at Crowley. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He wasn't getting out of it. He reached out his hand and felt the holy energy rising up like waves of heat before he even touched the relic. He decided he might as well get it over with and put his hand down onto the cross. The demons started counting.

Fuck, it hurt. He reckoned he could manage maybe 8 seconds, maybe 5. As the count hit 3 he started to lift his hand. Before he got free another hand slammed down onto his, holding it in place and a voice whispered in his ear "not thinking of giving up so soon Crawley?" Hastur. Shit. The count reached 5, then 8, then 10. He was really in pain now, desperately trying to work his hand loose, shouting at Hastur "let go, leggo of me". There was no chance. He could hear Hastur growling in his ear, enjoying his struggles. As the count hit 30 he couldn't help himself and started begging. He knew it wasn't going to help, would probably make it worse, but he couldn't stop himself. He promised Hastur anything if only he would let go. At 40 he started screaming. At 50 his hand started smoking. As it got towards 60 he could feel himself starting to loose focus, feeling sick and lightheaded. Hastur let go at 62, just before he passed out.

As soon as his hand was released he plunged it in the nearest drink. A hissing sound and a puff of steam indicated just how much damage had been done. Behind him he could hear Hastur's laughter. Bastard. Then the muffled demon spoke. "Your turn your Disgrace". The laughter stopped. "What do you mean, my turn, I'm not playing", a slight note of panic was evident in Hastur's reply. Crowley couldn't help himself, he started laughing, and laughing and laughing. "Your turn, hahahaha" he shouted joyfully. "You're not scared are you?" He added for good measure. Hastur was cornered. He couldn't refuse now, he had to do it. Crowley felt the demon next to him get up, making room for the Duke, who sat down with a huff.

Hastur reached out his hand and slammed it onto the cross with some force. The demons started counting again. Crowley watched fascinated as Hastur gritted his teeth against the pain. At 30 he started making a low rumbling noise at the back of his throat. At 40 the pitch increased, but he still wasn't shouting or screaming. The count got to 49 and smoke started rising. 51, 52, 53 Hastur suddenly shouted incoherently, something that sounded like "shit, shit, shit" and at 59 he lifted his hand. Crowley had won. He'd bloody won. He grinned widely. His hand was still wrist-deep in someone else's drink as he said: "ah, well, that's a shame. Looks like you lost, never mind, such a shame" his grin was so wide it threatened to split his face.

He should have left it. Got up and run away while he still could. Unfortunately, this was Crowley, and Crowley was a demon, so he couldn't help but gloat a little. "Now, did someone say something about a forfeit?" Another voice rumbled behind him "game's still open, haven't had my go yet". Ah, that was Ligur. This might be a problem. The seated demons moved aside making room for Ligur to sit in front of the cross. Ligur looked at Crowley, then at Hastur. Hastur looked defeated licking his palm where the raw, red burn was starting to blister. Ligur took his injured hand, turned it to inspect the damage, before squeezing hard. Hastur yelped, but didn't try to pull away. After a couple of seconds he grabbed the back of Ligur's head and pulled him in for a kiss. Ligur's grip tightened and Hastur whimpered into him seemingly enjoying the sensation.

Ligur pulled back from the kiss and glanced around the table. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a handful of stuff and threw it onto the general heap. A rat skull, a half eaten chicken wing and a glass eye were added to the pile. He grinned widely and slowly lowered his hand onto the cross. The count began. Uncertainly at first, but soon getting louder. Ligur looked clam. He showed no sign of being in pain. At 40 he grunted, but that was it. Hastur gazed at him lovingly. The count hit 50 and the smoke started. Ligur didn't react. At 60 his smile widened and he shifted slightly in his seat. At 62 he'd matched Crowley, but showed no sign of stopping. 64, 65, 66 and suddenly his hand was snatched away by Hastur who said "no, stop it, enough". Ligur growled, but looked satisfied. He swept up his winnings, putting them into one large coat pocket, and leaned over to kiss Hastur again.

While Ligur's attention was diverted Crowley attempted to sidle out from the table unnoticed. Several sets of hands held him in place. Ligur finished his kiss and turned his attention back to the table. "Now, I think there was a mention of forfeits wasn't there?" Hastur giggled with glee saying "oh yes, a forfeit for Crowley". Ligur looked at him "and you, you lost too" and smiled dangerously. Hastur did not look happy and started to object before Ligur shushed him saying "now, what shall I get you two to do eh?" His smile getting wider, more worrying. "Think I'd like to see a kiss" he mused eyeing Crowley speculatively. "You wanna kiss me?" Crowley asked astounded. "Nah, not me" Ligur clarified, looking positively evil. "You an' Hastur here. Forfeit for both of you. Now, what was my time again?" The collected demons confirmed it was 66 seconds. "Reckon that'll do it then, 66 seconds. A proper kiss too, wanna see tongues" Ligur leered at him. He was really enjoying this. Sadistic bastard.

Hastur looked disbelieving. He spluttered, "but, but, but, what'd'ya mean? Kiss him? I gotta kiss him?" Looking at Ligur with something like panic in his eyes. Ligur laughed. "Only fair babe. Forfeits for both of you. Go on, give us a show".

Crowley was holding onto the table, his mouth opening and closing as a silent scream tried to work it's way out of him. Finally his voice came out "no, no, no, no. I can't, I won't, not him! Anyone else, anyone at all, not him please!" Unfortunately for Crowley finding someone who wanted this even less than he did cheered Hastur up considerably. He grinned and stood, pulling Crowley to his feet and round to face him. "Oh Crowley, that's not very polite, what's wrong with me?" He crooned in a hurt sounding voice. Behind them Ligur chuckled "go on babe, a nice wet one. 66 seconds now. Gotta get my money's worth".

Hastur glared at Crowley, who considered running, but saw the crowd of demons around them and realised he was trapped. Hastur grabbed his lapels, lifted him bodily and slammed him against the wall. The next thing he felt was Hastur's mouth against his, a tongue trying to pry it's way into his mouth. The smell was overwhelming. Hastur didn't wash, didn't clean his teeth, didn't even eat mints. Crowley's mouth opened of its own accord, his body's defence against the smell assaulting his nostrils. The demons started counting. Thank fuck he was drunk. He couldn't cope with this sober. Crowley screwed his eyes up, listening to the count, waiting for this to be over.

Hastur was really going for it, full on passionate snogging, he was rather good at it. No way did he just think that. It must be the alcohol clouding his judgement. Oh, but no, this was actually quite nice. He responded to the kiss, letting his own forked snake-tongue enter Hastur's mouth. Around him the count hit 20 and the demons had started clapping along with it. Not sure what had got into him Crowley grabbed Hastur round the shoulders, pulling him nearer. He felt Hastur's hand on the back of his neck forcing him onto even closer contact. There were a few cheers and cat calls as the count hit 50. His hands slid down of their own accord, groping Hastur's arse as the kiss slowed into something more deliberate, more intimate. The count had reached 60, then 65, but there was no way he was going to stop this. He moaned softly as Hastur's other hand gripped his waist pulling their hips together. It felt good.

When Hastur finally pulled back they were both panting. The assembled demons had dispersed leaving Ligur as their sole audience. He was smiling, eyes half closed and making a soft growling noise. Hastur reached up to wipe Crowley's mouth and they made eye contact. "Wanna come back with us?" Hastur asked quietly. To his complete surprise Crowley found himself nodding enthusiastically and, when Ligur leaned in to kiss Hastur, he joined in. They left a few seconds later, Hastur holding one of his hands, Ligur the other.


End file.
